There had been a dream. The kind that fades too quickly but leaves something of itself behind. I've never remembered it, though I've tried. Sometimes I wish I could remember, other times I'm glad I can't.
It was cold that morning. I remember that so clearly. It shouldn't have been so cold, it was too early for the cold, but there it was. It's funny what you remember.
I remember laying in bed, looking out the window at the park next door. The wind was high and the clouds dashed by quickly, casting long shadows on the field of grass. I remember thinking it was like laying on the floor of the ocean watching the shadows of whales as they swam past overhead.
I remember a black bird sitting on a wire in the park, the wind ruffling it's shiny feathers. It was singing, I could see its beak opening again and again, but I couldn't hear it through the window. I remember wanting to hear and somehow that longing made my heart ache.
I remember we were of out toothpaste and I had to brush without it. I remember the way the brush tasted with the faint hint of the toothpaste from past brushings, the way the bristles felt too coarse and rough against my gums. I remember having toast and a fried egg for breakfast. I remember spilling coffee on my hand and the red spot it left there all morning.
The signs were all there. I've never be able to figure out why I missed them. Never.
I don't remember much of what anyone said or did that morning. I know I must have seen people, talked to them, but few things stick out. I remember stopping for gas on the way in. There was a woman on the other side of the pumps that I thought I knew from somewhere. I thought about saying hello but didn't. I remember the Indian cashier bowing his head and saying a short prayer in his native tongue instead of his usual “thank you”. I don't remember thinking anything of it. All the signs were there.
I was in my office when the phone rang. I remember a spike of ice going through my heart and not knowing why. The voice on the other end was harried. Something bad had happened. I was needed. I drove fast through the city, running lights, scaring pedestrians. I remember an elderly couple standing on a street corner, staring up at something in the sky, their mouths agape with wonder. Signs.
I arrived at the scene. Several cars were already there and lots of people were milling around looking concerned and confused. I pushed through the crowd, not caring as the dazed and wounded stumbled and fell as I passed, desperate to get through. There was smoke everywhere. A blizzard of grey ash fell all around. I choked and gagged. The smell was like nothing else. Bodies, there were so many bodies. I still did not know what had happened.
I heard a voice calling my name from somewhere in the smoke and followed it. He was covered in so much dirt and soot and ash that I barely recognized him. He was hurt, blood had darkened the front of his shirt, but he was tough, he'd be all right. He was trying to speak, to tell me something important, but he kept coughing and spitting black phlegm into the dirt. I lead him back to the cars, away from the worst of the smoke, and propped him up. He wheezed and gasped. I knew he needed a doctor but he still kept trying to speak. Finally he managed a single word. I can remember the way it sounded, whispery and hoarse, as he said it, coarse sandpaper words scraping inside my ears, full of regret. I remember the cold pressure in my chest, like an icy, steel clamp around my heart. I remember the tears in his eyes and in my own. “'Minda”.
I don't remember making my way through the crowd, though I must have. I don't remember rushing through the smoke and ash, though that must have happened too. I don't remember tripping over bodies or stumbling against charred walls, though those things surely happened as well. I do remember that room. I remember every single detail. I remember the smell being strongest there. I remember the way the black smoke drifted slowly through the broken windows. I remember the way the paint on the walls had bubbled and split and the way the few remaining beams glowed red with retained heat. I remember that single bare spot on the floor, untouched, unmarred, perfect, save for a few spatterings of blood. I remember feeling my mind bend and twist and knowing that any moment it was going to snap.
He didn't move at first. He just sat there, covered in black, sweat trickling down his face, leaving trails of reddened skin. He was cradling her head in his lap, her blond hair spilling over his legs. He slowly raised his head and our eyes met. I knew him. I'd known him for a long time. And I knew then that this day had been coming all along, that it had been inevitable, that all of it, everything, had been leading to this single, terrible moment. He smiled that same vile grin I had seen a hundred times. But this time was different. This time that smile was for me alone and I could almost hear the words behind it: “this I do for you”.
I couldn't move fast enough. He was always faster. I almost had him though. I was so close, the tips of my fingers caressing his neck as he danced away, twirling her body as he rose. I remember the way her hair spread out as she spun, her head lolling back on her limp neck, deep blond waves gliding through the smoke. It was almost beautiful. She collided with me and I fell with her. He laughed as though it were the greatest joke in the world. In a way I suppose it was, a special joke, just for he and I. Then he was gone, running through the broken and smoking ruins, still laughing.
I slowly laid her down and knelt there beside her. He'd been careful with her. She looked perfect, as if she were only sleeping, but I could feel the sharp edge of bone through the skin of her neck. I wanted to believe she hadn't suffered but I knew she must have. He would have made certain of that. I ran my thumb across her lips, wiping away a few traces of blood. I remember the way she felt in my arms, so limp and heavy. I wanted to cry. I wanted to fall across her body and weep and sob and never get up again. I wanted them to drag me away screaming. But I couldn't. There were no tears, not then. They were locked away behind a wall of something cold and dark. I stood and turned away. Others were coming. They would take care of her for me. I had work to do.
Nothing was going to be right again. That world was gone and I didn't care. The only thing left for me was pain and blood and death. He was fast but that wasn't going to be enough this time. Nowhere would be far enough. There would be no hole deep enough for him to hide. I would find him and I was going to make him hurt. Pain was the lesson and I was going to be his teacher. And then he was going to die.
- From the journal of [author's name removed]
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